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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453065">A Palace from Ruin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PardonMyManners/pseuds/PardonMyManners'>PardonMyManners</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Drama, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Lyrium Addiction, Modern Girl in Thedas, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Some Humor, and this is the first thing I've been motivated to write in months, but quarantine leads us all to dark places, no one wants another modern girl in thedas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 09:15:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PardonMyManners/pseuds/PardonMyManners</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn's life has been defined by missed opportunities and squandered potential. She'd always wanted to do good, to help people. Always searching for some meaning or purpose in life that went beyond shallow relationships and cold glowing screens, but like everyone else in middle-America she'd settled for a dead-end office job and dating apps. But when she wakes up surrounded by people with swords and armor in a place where magic and demons are real, she quickly realizes she might finally have the chance to prove herself. Or she might bring everyone and everything crashing down around her. </p><p>-</p><p>Or, a modern coming of age story, Thedas style</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s), Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Palace from Ruin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm so tired right now that finding words to explain the things and thoughts is hard. But I want to get this first (long) chapter out there so I can stop staring at it. I have no beta... I haven't in years, but maybe one of these days I should actually you know, have one. If anyone is interested... hit me up -Pardonmymannersir on Tumblr (come find me, I'm a nice lady). I don't know why I wrote this, honestly... a coping mechanism born of the times? I think so much of our media reflects our political reality and our current reality is... rough. Maybe a part of me wanted to exert some sense of control or, idk, catharsis in one of my favorite story settings. I mean how many of us look at the way the world is and feel powerless to make a difference? To effect change? Imagine you were given the chance to do something meaningful and important -for good or ill, with all the unforeseen consequences that go along with it. Thats what this story is about, in many ways. Also, you know, the romance and the smut and the self-discovery because what's life without it? Now this for SURE sounds like self-insert Mary Sue whatever, and really, I think most fiction (fan fiction too) has elements of self insert, and I won't pretend Evelyn doesn't represent aspects of myself, but I think she more represents an ideal, a sort of generalization of the times, of the women I personally know and the struggles they face and the way they deal with them. I make this story sound very serious and angsty, which will be true in parts, but there is also humor and fun and sillyness. This is rambling, but here we are. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Chapter 1</h2><p>
  <em>Hiraeth (Welsh) (n): A particular type of longing for the homeland or a romanticized past.</em>
</p><hr/><p><strong>I</strong>t was just Evie’s luck that Commander Cullen happened upon her as she vomited spectacularly into a bush just outside the walls of Haven.</p><p>“Ah, uh, sorry to intrude,” he stammered, as if he’d interrupted something important or scandalous. She glanced up at him, blinking away the moisture in her eyes as the faint morning sunlight turned his hair to gold and highlighted a jawline so sharp a girl could cut herself on it. He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. It was a disarmingly boyish gesture.</p><p>Evie fluttered a hand at him, still nauseous and out of breath. Running was the worst sort of torture. With great effort, she managed to lift the edge of her cloak and swipe at her mouth. Still, she didn’t have the courage to straighten yet, one arm curled protectively around her evil, traitorous stomach as she eyed the bush skeptically. Maybe she had one more good heave in her.</p><p>Of all the people to shame herself in front of…</p><p>She and the Commander had barely exchanged more than a handful of words in the past two weeks. He’d made his opinion of her presence very clear from the start. None of them had taken the fact that she’d come from an entirely different world (plane of existence?) very well, of course. Who could blame them? Cassandra had looked like she wanted to hit something, preferably Evie. Leliana watched her like a hawk -a very scary and intense hawk. But Cullen had taken it particularly hard. He’d insisted she must be a mage possessed by a demon who was trying to trick them and that they ought to keep her under lock and key until they knew more. Accusations that made little to no sense to her at the time, still reeling from the reality of her situation -not much had changed there, in all honesty. Whenever she happened to spot him around Haven, he was always watching her with his arms crossed over his broad chest and a distinctly pinched looked on his face. During the few meetings they’d dragged her into, he remained stoically silent, hardly acknowledging her at all.</p><p>He was also stupidly handsome. Bastard.</p><p>God, her legs felt like noodles.</p><p>“It, ah, will get easier,” he said in a rather shocking attempt at kindness and shifted on his feet as he looked somewhere past her shoulder. “The, uh training that is.”</p><p>She wondered absently if she should just bury herself in the snow and be done with it. Save everyone the trouble.</p><p>Searching for something to distract from her rising mortification, Evie scooped up a hand full of snow to rinse out her mouth -favoring the hand <em>without</em> the horrifying mark on it. She’d been trying very hard to ignore that hand. It took a great deal of self-control to calmly spit out half a dozen pebbles a moment later, face burning. Life as a frozen popsicle was becoming ever more appealing. </p><p>Evie had never been a particularly athletic person. She’d always hated running and had visited her local gym a handful of times before finding any excuse to avoid it -you know, like every other sensible, red-blooded American woman. Now, however, there was a good chance that being out of shape would quite literally kill her. Or at least kill her faster. Magic, swords, holes in the sky… Still, she was going to give it the good ol’ college try. She didn’t have much choice one way or another, of course -where would she even go? It wasn't like she could survive out in this strange, horribly violent world on her own. And apparently, these people needed her, even if they were very reluctant to admit it. Not that she blamed them.</p><p>Something about saving the world and being chosen by the Virgin Mary or some shit -she was still hazy on the details.</p><p>Then, of course, there was the flaming green mark on her hand that could close openings in space and time or whatever. And demons. There were also demons. Memories of that first day -trekking up the side of the mountain in the snow and almost dying half a dozen times still haunted her dreams. Not to mention all the smoldering corpses. She could still feel them pressed against the back of her eyelids; she might have been able to regulate them to some dark corner of her mind if not for memory of the <em>smell</em>.</p><p>The Commander thrust a water-skin at her, still not quite able to meet her eye and she accepted it gratefully. She fumbled with the stopper for a moment -opening things was a real struggle in a world without twist caps- and took a few swallows of crisp, cool water. She was more than a little disappointed it wasn’t wine. Varic was always handing her flasks of mysterious booze.</p><p>“Thanks,” she said, straightening slowly and deciding she wasn’t in any immediate danger of hurling all over Cullen’s brightly polished armor. Perish the thought.</p><p>Lieutenant Reinhold crested the slight rise behind them and spotted her immediately. He wasn’t <em>quite</em> able to conceal his exasperation. She’d been meant to complete at least six laps around the path outside Haven before breakfast. She’d barely managed three so far and breakfast had come and gone.</p><p>“Did you need something, Commander?” She tried not to sound too hopeful and silently congratulated herself on remembering to use his very official and important title. People took that shit real seriously around here.</p><p>He glanced at the Lieutenant who’d by now managed to plaster a neutral expression on his scared face -everyone had scars around here. Poor guy had been saddled with her all week.</p><p>Cullen spared Reinhold a respectful -possibly sympathetic- nod before addressing her once more. “Only that Seeker Pentaghast and I have decided to begin your weapons training first thing tomorrow morning.”</p><p>Evie brightened. Weapons sounded much better than death-by-cardio.</p><p>“After your morning exercises, of course.”</p><p>She quickly deflated. Cardio hell would never end.</p><p>“Sure, of course, sounds great.” She made an awkward salute that he managed to ignore.</p><p>Lieutenant Reinhold cleared his throat quietly, gaze flicking pointedly down the path, and Evie returned the water skin with a sigh. Cullen took it, careful not to touch her, so careful in fact, he nearly dropped it. It stung, more than she cared to admit.</p><p>“Well, see you around Commander,” she said with an odd hand flutter and took off at a hobbling jog down the snow-slick path.</p><p>“Herald,” he murmured in parting and she could feel the weight of eyes on her back and she prayed desperately to whatever god would listen that she didn’t fall flat on her face.</p><hr/><p><strong>T</strong>he following day Evie managed four solid laps before vomiting, which she absolutely counted as a win. Never mind that even the newest recruits were expected to do at least ten. Everyday. Sometimes twice a day it they fucked something up during drills.</p><p>She had no idea what the soldiers thought of her, probably that she was some sort of pampered member of the nobility. Leliana had been <em>very</em> clear about keeping her origins to herself until they decided how best to handle the ‘<em>situation</em>’ as the other woman was wont to call it. It was easily done, however, as apparent reverence or revulsion kept just about everyone at bay. Everyone save Varric -the literal fucking <em>dwarf</em>- and sometimes Solas -the literal fucking <em>elf</em>. Those two were curious creatures and she figured it was only a matter of time before they figured it all out, if they hadn't already. Solas gave her strange, penetrating looks sometimes that made her uncomfortable. Like he knew something about her she'd prefer he didn't.  </p><p>Cullen was waiting for her at the training grounds outside Haven while everyone else was at breakfast. Evie was deeply grateful for the lack of an audience -Cullen was going to be bad enough. Though, she reasoned, if enough people saw how absolutely unqualified she was maybe they’d stop looking at her like she’d brought the dead back to life and walked on water or whatever. Though neither of those things were probably very exciting around these parts, she reasoned. Magic and all that.</p><p>“Herald,” Cullen said in greeting, offering a curt little nod, his expression unreadable in the bright glare of the sun reflecting off fresh snow. It was a nice day. Crisp. Clear. Minus, of course, the pulsing and swirling green hole in the sky she was meant to somehow close.</p><p>
  <em>Best not to think about that.</em>
</p><p>“Commander,” she managed, still out of breath as she jogged to a halt before him and she leant forward to brace her hands on her thighs. The puking had left her jittery. She was also fairly certain her ass had fallen off somewhere behind her. It was fucking <em>cold</em>. She was a desert rat born and raised, having spent the majority of her existence in New Mexico with a brief stint in Nevada. She’d seen snow like a handful of times in her life and she was now pretty confident in saying she was <em>not</em> a fan.</p><p>Still fighting to control her breathing, she looked around and felt a rising sense of dread.</p><p>“Where’s Cassandra?” She and the Seeker -whatever in the hell <em>that</em> was- were starting to get along. Evie rather liked her, in truth, especially now that the other woman wasn’t threatening to slit her throat or hold her prisoner indefinitely. Cassandra was a woman of extremes. Extreme vehemence giving away to sudden and extreme devotion. Pragmatism could go a long way.</p><p>Cullen’s hand rested on the pommel of his sword, his interesting fur lined-robe? cloak?- fluttered in a passing breeze. He practically radiated control and disapproval in equal measure. “Seeker Pentaghast had an urgent matter to attend. She sends her apologies.”</p><p>
  <em>Well, shit. </em>
</p><p>“Right, cool,” she managed lamely, straightening and quickly fixing her drooping hair into a tight ponytail with her most precious possession -her one and only elastic hair-tie. The medieval equivalent used leather and sticks and was not something she was looking forward to mastering. Her hair, shoulder length and an ashy brown bordering on mousy, felt greasy and heavy between her fingers and she tried not to grimace. Daily baths weren’t really a thing and she couldn’t quite stomach the guilt of having people bring in buckets of snow to melt just for her every day.</p><p>Cullen studied her with serious, appraising eyes for a long moment and Evie tried to suppress a blush. She’d lost a fair amount of weight since she’d woken in a medieval torture chamber a month ago, but she was still much rounder then just about everyone and muscle building was a long, painful process.</p><p>“You’ve no experience with a sword or any other weapon?”</p><p>She <em>almost</em> made a dick joke but managed to refrain. Barely. Nervousness tended to bleed into inappropriately timed humor. It had been a lifelong curse.</p><p>“Nooope,” she said, letting the ‘p’ pop loud in the winter silence. He knew this of course. She hadn’t been shy about her utter lack of combat skill. She’d initially hoped it would mean she didn’t have to go wandering out into the terrifying demon and magic infested world, but no such luck.</p><p>She would have almost been willing to run more laps to avoid what was clearly going to be a painful and awkward experience. Cullen didn’t like her much -he was perpetually serious, the kind of serious that did <em>not </em>appreciate sarcasm even at the best of times let alone the apparent end of the world (their world, not hers). Worse, he was the sort of handsome she’d learned to avoid in her own world. Men like Cullen tended to treat women like her with only passing interest, if they acknowledged her existence at all.</p><p>He scrutinized her for another moment and damn was it hard to bear the weight of that stare. There was a lot behind his eyes, things she didn’t understand, things she wasn’t sure she <em>wanted</em> to understand. The word 'haunted' came to mind.</p><p>“Let’s start with light weaponry, I think,” he said and he moved toward the archery lanes past the main training field without another word. She followed after, literally dragging her feet through the snow.</p><p>“Well,” Evie said under her breath, “let’s get this over with.”</p><p>“Every soldier should know how to use a bow with passable accuracy,” Cullen said, voice stern, commanding. “It allows you to put distance between yourself and your target. Until you’ve learned to protect yourself from combatants up close, its best to pick them off at a distance.”</p><p>“Sure,” she said lamely, “makes sense.” Nothing about her life made any sort of sense but it was a day by day, moment by moment kind of thing. No point in fighting it. To be honest she still hadn’t given up on the idea that she was in some sort of coma and she’d wake up in a hospital back home any second.</p><p>Cullen picked up a fairly standard looking recurve bow and spent several long minutes showing her how to properly nock and hold an arrow against the string and how to orient her fingers. He demonstrated how to anchor a hand against the jaw or ear -“Your preference,” he said, tone disinterested- and how to angle her elbow so the string didn’t slap against her arm. Determined to not embarrass herself more than was absolutely necessary, she cataloged it all as best as possible.</p><p>Then he took aim and fired in one fluid motion, hitting the target just a bit to the left of center. She gave a little clap because she was nothing if not persistent in her quest to ease her own discomfort with perpetual humor and levity. He gave her the barest ghost of a smile, clearly humoring her and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Cassandra would have at least made that disgusted noise she always made when Evie tried to be funny before hiding a smile.</p><p>“Your turn,” he said, flipping the bow in his hand, “take your time and don’t rush. Make sure to sight down the length of the arrow and breathe out before you release.” She could tell he’d repeated these exact words many, many times.</p><p>“Right,” she said, girding her loins.</p><p>Reluctantly, she accepted the bow, heart stuttering nervously. Cullen was pretty much the last person she wanted to demonstrate her poor hand-eye coordination in front of. She selected an arrow from the bucket, leveled it against the string with her fingers as he’d shown her and then… something very strange happened. Without consciously deciding to do so, she stood erect, angled her body toward the target, drew the bow in a single, fluid motion, and hit the bullseye on an easy exhale.</p><p>Evie immediately dropped the bow as if it had burned her.</p><p>Cullen’s brow creased and his arms unfolded themselves in surprise. “That was… impressive.”</p><p>Evie, for her part, felt a bit sick, her ears buzzing like a swarm of bees had been caught between her teeth. That had felt fucking <em>weird</em>. It had felt like her brain had been turned off or something.</p><p>“That was… horrifying,” she managed, voice strangled. Using the Mark to close those rifts on the mountain had felt similar. Like she was a machine being led through the motions by some alien creature hidden inside her.</p><p>Cullen frowned down at her, honeyed eyes narrowing, and studied her in that disarming way he had. Like he could see through her skull and read all her thoughts. “Why? That was an amazing shot.” His tone was bordering on suspicious.</p><p>She felt fucking <em>weird.</em></p><p>“Right, and I haven’t picked up a bow since I was like, twelve, at this horrible summer camp my dad made me go to while he and his new wife ran off to Costa Rica.”</p><p>He hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps you are just naturally gifted.”</p><p>Evie snorted. She’d barely managed to hit the target at camp, and it had been like, fifteen feet in front of her…. Not over fifty. Not to mention how easy it had been to draw the damn thing -a few weeks of sporadic push-ups hadn’t done <em>that</em> much for her dismal upper body strength. The bow had to have at least a sixty-pound draw if not more.</p><p>“Maybe I just got lucky,” she said with sudden optimism. Yeah, that was it. Beginner’s luck. No big deal.</p><p>Ignoring her own trepidation, she snatched the bow up again, selected an arrow from the nearby bucket, took aim -and split her first arrow down the middle like she was fucking Robin Hood.</p><p>“Jesus Christ-“</p><p>“Maker’s breath-“</p><p>Evie calmly set the bow on the nearby table and sat heavily in the snow. Thankfully there was nothing left in her stomach to vomit.</p><p>“Why would you pretend as though you had no combat skill?” Cullen demanded, whirling on her and his face darkened with anger. His eyes werevery bright when he was pissed, she noted, like molten gold. “Is this some sort of <em>joke</em> to you.”</p><p>Evie hung her head between her knees. “Dude, this is in <em>no </em>way funny to me.” It was scary as shit. She felt like she was turning into someone else, like she was losing her god-damned mind -as if that hadn’t been obvious on day-fucking-<em>one</em> when she woke up in knock-off Middle Earth.</p><p>Cullen was not appeased. “You have <em>quite</em> clearly trained with a bow-“</p><p>“And I’m telling you I haven’t,” she snapped. “Unless you seriously think a week of half assed practice with a plastic bow and blunt arrows over a <em>decade</em> ago counts, but I sure as shit do <em>not</em>.”</p><p>She could feel him frowning down at her like an angry and righteous storm cloud and she deflated. She lifted her head and fixed him with her most serious stare. God, she felt almost weepy. She was due a good cry, she could feel it, but now was absolutely not the right time. Didn’t he understand how absolutely insane this all was to her?</p><p>“Listen, I get it okay? Me being here is not what you or anyone else wanted and a bunch of people you cared about were blown up and you have no idea why and all you’ve got is this terrifying thing on my hand,” she lifted the offending appendage, where the Mark glowed faintly across her palm. “But I’m not lying to you okay? I’m not trying to trick you or- or <em>mislead</em> you. I mean how stupid would it be to say I have no combat skill and then come out here and do… <em>that.</em>” She fluttered her hand across the way.</p><p>Some of the fight leaked out of him, shoulders easing away from his ears and jaw unclenching by degrees. Hesitation maybe even <em>regret</em> flashed in his eyes before he looked away.</p><p>Evie rubbed a hand furiously across her face. The shock that had been propelling her -and numbing her, in some ways- for the past few weeks appeared to be giving way to anger. She could feel it pricking along her skin, tugging at the base of her skull.</p><p>“I don’t know how I did that, but, well, if you lot really want to send me out into your crazy fucked up world at least I’ll have a slight chance of not being cut in half immediately. That seems like good news.”</p><p>“Seeker Pentaghast would never allow-“</p><p>“Yeah, yeah I know, but she can’t be everywhere at once, so let’s just… not look a gift horse the mouth or whatever.” Also thinking about it too much made her want to tear out her hair and run screaming into the wilderness. Maybe she should talk to Solas, he was full of terrifying yet comforting information. He’d been the one to explain that once the Breach in the sky was closed, the Mark on her hand might be her ticket home. The clear implication there being ‘you help us we help you,’ of course. Again, it wasn’t like she had much fucking choice. She wouldn’t survive two days on her own in this place.</p><p>Cullen breathed a sigh that was almost snatched away by a chill breeze and his gloved hand entered her field of vision. His expression had gentled and there was something like a smirk tugging at the left corner of his mouth. He was so pretty it hurt. It made her want to shy away, made her very aware of her dirty clothing, greasy hair and imperfect skin.</p><p>“Come on, let’s see if you have any surprising skills with a sword.” It was a testament to her state of mind that she didn’t immediately want to make a dick joke this time. Or maybe it was the hint of an apology behind his words. <em>Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,</em> echoed back at her. She took his hand, her fingers dwarfed by his, and he tugged her sharply to her feet.</p><p>Her miraculous ability with a bow did not, in fact, translate to the sword. She very nearly cut off her own foot before Cullen swiftly plucked the hilt from her hands. The amusement in his eyes lingered and she much preferred it to the outright disdain.</p><p>Daggers though. Daggers she could get <em>into</em>.</p><hr/><p><strong>I</strong>ntense physical stress was a great way to pass the fuck out every night and not lie awake contemplating things like inter-dimensional travel and certain death, but when that didn’t work, there was always drinking.</p><p>“Varric, dude, check this out,” Evie slurred and stood on their table in Haven’s tavern. The entire room turned to look at her, but she managed not to notice. People were always looking at her these days, watching her, murmuring about her. Calling her ‘Herald’ and ‘Your Worship.’ It was more than a little awful. She usually did her drinking in her little cabin or with Varric around the ever-burning campfire outside the chapel-chantry- thing. Low profile. No weird stories. She was starting not to give a fuck though, felt herself rankling under their rules and whims.</p><p>“I’mma hit the feather off that hat on the wall over there,” she told him, flopping her hand limply in the general direction of the door, and she slipped a knife from the belt at her waist. After her training with Cullen she was allowed to carry <em>knives</em> around now.</p><p>Varric snorted into his beer. “Sunshine, I don’t think you could hit that if it were two feet in front of you and you were completely sober.” Several people chuckled.</p><p>Evie gasped in exaggerated offense and waggled the dagger in his face. He looked a tad alarmed by this. “How dare you insult my…,” she frowned, trying to find her train of thought from where she’d evidently dropped it -“family!” she concluded triumphantly. “Dishonor on <em>you</em>, dishonor on your <em>cow</em>…”</p><p>Varric looked at her like maybe she’d gone a bit nuts. Which… well.</p><p>Then, without even looking, she threw the dagger across the room with a flick of her wrist and impaled the feather in the tavern wall.</p><p>“Maker’s balls,” someone breathed. Another soldier let out a whoop as she lifted her arms in triumph. Varric looked momentarily stunned before a slow, mischievous smirk curled at his lips.</p><p>“Who wants to take bets as to whether she can do that again?”</p><hr/><p>“<strong>H</strong>erald, this is for you,” Leliana said, holding a thick scroll out across the ominously named ‘War Table.’</p><p>Evie, who was wavering with exhaustion after another long day of running, helping, training, and <em>more </em>running, had been thinking about the time she’d passed out in the middle of a choir performance when she was seven. She’d locked her knees and tumbled over the kid in front of her before she knew even what was happening.</p><p>The only reason she knew she’d been addressed at all was because of the uncharacteristic silence that followed. These meetings were generally defined by their intense, long winded arguments of which she had little to contribute, one way or another. Not so different from her own world, to be honest. She had little right to an opinion, in fairness. Not her world, not her people. She was just an instrument… a poorly crafted tool in the hands of desperate people. Her eyes flicked to Cullen, wary, as ever, of his condemnation, but he only looked concerned if anything. He was leaning on his fists over the map with its many little markers, looking at her from beneath the sharp slope of his brows. He hadn’t been glaring at her quite so much recently, which was nice.</p><p>Evie swallowed and accept the scroll. “What’s this?”</p><p>“A letter from your parents.”</p><p>She very nearly dropped it, fumbling and only barely managing to trap it against her side with an elbow. “<em>Excuse</em> me?”</p><p>Leliana smirked. “The Trevelyans, of minor Free Marcher nobility, have just revealed that the Herald of Andraste is their sheltered, devout daughter whom, driven by her deep faith in the Divine and her cause, had decided to attend the Conclave.”</p><p>Evie shook her head, though she wasn’t sure why exactly -shock?- and Leliana gestured at the scroll. “Read it.”</p><p>Evie awkwardly pulled the scroll apart using the artfully carved wooden handles that stuck out of either end in the way she’d seen Josephine do, and began to read, muttering the words under her breath.</p><p>“Lady Montilyet,</p><p>Words cannot express the joy and relief your letter has brought to our family. Our daughter has lived a very sheltered life, devoted to her studies and to her faith, and we were dismayed when she insisted on attending the Conclave. She wanted to see history made and the Maker’s will be done, she told us. Our Evelyn has always been stubborn in her faith, but it seems she was right where the Maker needed her most. Look after her, if you please, and we offer what connections and aid our humble family can provide.</p><p>Yours Humbly,</p><p>Lord Thomas Trevelyan”</p><p>Evie slowly rolled the scroll closed and attempted to sort through the myriad of emotions that swept over her. “So… they just agreed to say I’m their daughter and you’re not worried someone will figure out that’s absolute bullshit?” She asked slowly, carefully. There was a sudden and powerful urge to be alone. To process. To <em>hide</em>.</p><p>“The Trevelyan’s, as I said, are only minor nobility and have very few connections of import,” Leliana said. “It is a lie which people will accept easily.”</p><p>“You mean more easily than how I fell out of the sky from another world?”</p><p>Leliana pursed her lips and folded her hands behind her back. “Precisely.”</p><p>The pins and needles feeling she’d been combating all week was back in force, disrupting the autopilot she’d been operating under since Cassandra had dragged her up a mountainside and into hell.</p><p>Evie set the scroll gently on the table in front of her and swallowed past the rising lump in her throat. “Guys, I just… I don’t think this will work.”</p><p>Josephine and Leliana frowned in unison, exchanging a look. “I assure you, Herald,” Josephine said slowly, “We’ve seen to every angle and the Trevelyan’s have just as much motivation to convince the masses of your parentage as we do.”</p><p><em>They are asking me to replace my family. They are asking me to become someone else.</em> She had tried very hard not to think of her parents or her younger sister or her friends -as few and far between as they were.</p><p>Evie drew in a breath that stuttered and burned. “It’s not that -well not <em>just</em> that.” She struggled to find the right way to explain, to express the feelings she didn’t really understand herself. “I just, I mean, I know <em>nothing </em>about your world,” she blurted, hands waving, “No history or culture… shit, I can barely <em>dress</em> myself.” Everything had so many god damn buckles. “How on earth am I supposed to convince people I’m from Thedas let alone a noble family?”</p><p>Cassandra placed a warm, heavy hand on her shoulder and Evie realized she was breathing heavily. Cullen’s brow was creased and he seemed torn, uncertain. He met her gaze for a split second before looking away again. “She does have a point,” he said, “A noblewoman, even from the most minor of houses, would be expected to be educated on certain topics.”</p><p>Cassandra’s fingers squeezed gently as she spoke. “Herald- <em>Evelyn</em>, you underestimate how easily people will believe whatever affirms their perceptions… people will believe you are Evelyn Trevelyan because they <em>want</em> to believe it, because the alternative… the truth is too… too <em>hard</em>, too impossible.</p><p>Evie had managed to reign herself in, outwardly at least, and she felt her cheeks heat. She was tired. So very tired. All she wanted was to be in her musty little cabin under the smelly furs where she could burry herself and cry until the pressure behind her eyes abated. No, what she really wanted was to be <em>home</em> but that was seeming less and less likely with every passing day.</p><p>With Herculean effort, she forced a smile, not quite meeting anyone’s eye. “Right, of course… but I still would like to know more… about Thedas and everything else. I’m supposed to be representing a religion I only barely understand.” Ugh, religion. She hadn’t had much patience or interest in it in her own life and she was struggling against the possible reality of it in this new strange world she found herself.</p><p>“Tutelage is an excellent idea, Herald,” Josephine said gently.</p><p>“We’ll have to choose our tutors carefully, however,” Leliana remarked as the tense moment shifted out and away from her. Cassandra’s hand fell away, leaving her cold and untethered.</p><p>“If there is nothing else, perhaps we can all attempt to get a reasonable amount of sleep for once,” Cullen said, and Evie regarded him critically for a moment. His voice sounded heavy, strained. The pinch of his brows hinted at a headache. She could sympathize.</p><p>“Of course, Commander,” Josephine said quickly when it looked like Leliana was about to protest.</p><p>Evie, for her part, couldn’t escape fast enough. It took every ounce of her already crumbling control to not run from the Chantry like it was on fire. That night, for the first time since the day she’d arrived, she cried until she fell into a fitful, broken sleep. But the next morning she woke and dressed -albeit slowly- and faced a new day with all the courage she could muster.</p><hr/><p><strong>C</strong>ullen leaned over the battlements, ruined as they were, and watched the Herald huff and puff her way around the snow-covered path outside Haven. Her hair glinted in the sun and her plain, dark gray cloak fluttered out behind her like a limp, useless wing. The rest of the recruits had finished their laps a quarter hour ago. She was a lone figure against the sea of blinding white tinted faintly green by the Breach that mocked them from above.</p><p>“There you are, Cullen.” Seeker Pentaghast -<em>Cassandra</em> she kept insisting- hoisted herself up the last rung of the ladder. “I’d hoped to go over our plans once more before we departed.”</p><p>“Certainly” he murmured, distracted as the Herald stopped suddenly and bent forward. He wondered if she’d be sick. Again.</p><p>“Maybe we should postpone the mission,” he blurted, giving voice to his worry before he could think better of it. The Herald was in no way ready to deal with the sort of chaos and violence she was sure to encounter in the Hinterlands.</p><p>Cassandra followed the line of his gaze and frowned. “We cannot delay any longer, Cullen. We’ve already waited too long.”</p><p>Cullen smoothed a gloved hand over his face, fingers working briefly at the tension along his jaw. Another sleepless night. Another day of endless discomfort, pain lingering behind every gesture, every movement. Would it never end? Some days he wished he’d been at the conclave, that some better, more worthy person had survived to command their growing army.</p><p>“I know,” he said, and he did, he truly did, “its only… she isn’t even <em>close</em> to prepared, miraculous fighting skills or no.” He still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Her frankly awe-inspiring ability with a bow and daggers; he’d never seen the like and with so little obvious effort. Leliana had affirmed what he already knew, however: their strange Herald was many things -irreverent, uncertain, determined in her way- but she was no liar. Though it would have been easier to stomach if she were. The implications were almost too much to bear, on top of everything else.</p><p>Could <em>nothing</em> ever be easy?</p><p>Cassandra sighed and braced her folded arms against the crumbled stone of the battlements. “Cullen… you look at the Herald and you see a woman who can only complete five laps instead of ten, but when I look at her, I see a woman who fought hard for those five laps when yesterday she could only manage four.” There was wisdom there, a gentle admonishment to his stubborn pride. For all her faults and utter lack of qualifications in most regards, the Herald had proven determined, willing to learn and <em>kind</em> even when he’d been less than so. She helped anyone and everyone who asked her. His scouts reported she frequently went scouring for herbs, chopped wood and even dug latrines -poorly by all accounts, but still it was far more than most had done.</p><p>“She is perhaps not the champion we might have chosen for ourselves,” Cassandra continued, tone rueful, but her eyes, when they met his, were full of a faith and certainty he envied deeply. His faith had all but deserted him. “But she is the one the Maker has provided to us. You give her too little credit, I think. We are not her people, this is not her world, and still she tries, she <em>fights</em>, what more can we ask of her? Of anyone, for that matter?”</p><p>“Perhaps you are right…” she was, of course, “I just, none of it makes any <em>sense</em> and I feel woefully unprepared for what is to come.” That was the crux of it, really. Not the Herald’s inadequacies, but his own, forever being thrown in his face.</p><p>Cassandra huffed out a laugh. It was dry and brittle like leaves crunched beneath heavy boots. “You are not alone in that feeling, but we must work with what the Maker has given us.”</p><p>They had little choice, one way or another.</p><p>“You’ll watch after her, won’t you?” She was their only chance, whether he liked it or not. To lose her now would be the end of… <em>everything</em>. He thought of her easy smiles, her hesitation every time someone asked for her opinion, the careful consideration she gave in the rare moments when she was serious… Below them, the Herald straightened and began jogging again, slow, graceless, and he thought of the delighted look on her face when she’d managed to parry his sword swing with her long daggers. She didn’t often smile at him, not in a way that reached the warm brown of her eyes. She had very fine, even teeth that gleamed brightly against the steady darkening of her skin. He couldn’t see her face, but he could feel the determination in her, could feel it across the frozen landscape like a faint beacon of hope. A flicker of light in the dark.</p><p>Cassandra patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll keep her safe, Cullen, do not fret.”</p><p>He huffed -he did <em>not</em> fret- and followed Cassandra down into the bowels of Haven. As he descended, he couldn’t help but remember the feel of the Herald’s hand in his -dwarfed, small, fragile. It had made him feel protective in a way he had not anticipated. She was so strange and unexpected.</p><p>
  <em>Maker, keep her safe. For all our sakes.</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Reviews are lovely, and so are you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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